


Tag

by Setkia



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Chef!Sanji, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Oblivious!Sanji, Pining!zoro, Some angst, Tagger!Zoro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-02-27 21:23:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13256898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Setkia/pseuds/Setkia
Summary: “You can’t just make a beautiful masterpiece representing your love for me, put it on the wall right behind my workplace and then run away!”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own One Piece. Seems I'm starting to double-post/put my One Piece stories on multiple sites, so here you guys go, the 1st part of a two-shot. The great news is a lot of the stories I post on here are already done so yay, you just need to wait like, 2 weeks when I'm back from having no internet for the last bit.

* * *

****_i. a compass that doesn’t point north_

* * *

_Fuckers._

Sanji doesn’t know if he’s been holding the people of the North Blue to a higher standard than they deserve, or if he’s just been arrogant to assume that no one would dare to hit up his restaurant, but now he’s staring at appalling public vandalism. To say that he’s pissed is a bit of an understatement.

_Where is it?_

If it’s anything like what he’s seen on the tunnels of the subway, then there has to be a marker somewhere, some indication of the fucker who dared to “make art” on Baratie property, and when Sanji finds it, you can be sure he’s going to strangle the motherfucker until they learn their lesson.

The blond chef has seen some strange graffiti in his twenty-four years on Earth. He’s seen UNCHAIN ME written in large, bubbly letters, with handcuffs linking the two words together, he’s seen landscapes of the city under siege by a Godzilla-esque creature and he’s seen misquoted lyrics to obnoxious pop song. He’s seen swear words, crude stickmen and instructions on who to call if you want a quick blowjob. He’s seen images of dead bodies surrounded by crows, some people liked to draw the crows eating the rotting flesh. He’s seen cryptic words like BEAUTY, over a half-rotting corpse and creepy-ass clowns. 

_Nothing_ is as strange as this.

Sanji tilts his head, squinting at the picture.

It’s unchanging.

But it’s so _stupid_ , it can’t possibly be what Sanji thinks it is.

“Oi, how long does it take to get rid of the trash?”

Sanji nearly bites off his tongue at the sudden voice and turns sharply to face Patty. He pulls the cigarette from his lips, gritting his teeth. “It’s gonna take as long as I fucking want it to, bastard.”

Patty rolls his eyes. “Yeah, whatever, just remember you’ve got your break soon— is that a compass?”

Sanji turns on his heel back to face the wall. “So it appears.” He places the cigarette between his lips again.

“But it’s not—”

“Pointing north?” Sanji inhales, his lungs filling with the smoke, his body warming, his senses tingling. He exhales slowly, watching the smoke puff out like a small cloud. “Doesn’t make sense to me either.”

“Maybe it’s like … an artistic choice?”

“It’s a broken compass, that’s what it is.” Sanji rolls his eyes. “Are you really going to try and understand the mind of some stupid criminal?”

“It’s kinda pretty though, isn’t it?”

Sanji can see the detail in the compass. The needle is very precise and pointed, facing south, instead of north. There’s glass, as if the compass is in some kind of container, and the shadows are perfectly reflected, exactly how Sanji would imagine it would look like if it were real. It looks faded and old, yet crisp and new. Sanji can admit that the shading is well done and there’s an intricate pattern around the rim of the compass, making it feel like an antique—

“It’s …” Sanji searches his vocabulary to find a word adequate enough to describe the image before him. He chews on the end of his cigarette and taps his foot. He doesn’t want to compliment it, because he _really_ doesn’t like the damn taggers in the city, he thinks they’re disgusting and disrespectful, but he can’t deny that there’s something elegant about it.

As his eyes scan over the piece of … _paint_ , Sanji notices the insignia. It’s a jolly roger, two swords crossing over the back of the skull and one in the skull’s mouth. He wants to laugh. Zoro would certainly get a kick out of this—

“SHIT!”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far—”

“Move out of the way!” Sanji shoves Patty aside and storms into the kitchen, grabbing his coat. “I’m gonna go out for my break, see ya later Old Man!”

Sanji is out the door and running before Zeff can say anything in response.

 

  
He’s late.

To be fair, Sanji is also late, but still. It was Zoro’s idea to meet up for coffee, and it’s just bad manners to be late to an appointment you yourself set up.

“Are you going to order anything?” asks the beautiful blonde waitress.

“Ah, Conis-chan, no, not yet.”

_Is she looking at my mouth? Does she like me? Maybe I should ask her out—_

“Your cigarette, Sanji-kun?”

Sanji hums, contently, placing his head in the palm of his hand, leaning forward. “Yes, Conis-chan?”

Conis is frowning slightly. Sanji sits up straighter. It’s not good to make women feel uncomfortable. He controls himself, reigning in his hormones. Okay, maybe she _doesn’t_ want him to pull a move on her, so why is she staring at him—

Sanji’s eyes land on the _No Smoking_ sign.

“Oh, my mistake, Conis-chan!” 

He puts out his cigarette into the ashtray, flashing her a sheepish grin. “Habit of mine.” He shrugs apologetically. 

Conis gives him a tight smile before going on her way to the next customer.

Sanji deflates slightly, his eyes wandering out the window. There are so many people out and about. Somehow, despite the giant sign announcing Bink’s Brew, the Marimo hasn’t found his way.

A head of moss hair appears out of the corner of Sanji’s vision. 

He smirks, watching as Roronoa Zoro wanders, looking beyond lost as he looks at the signs above the stores across the street, his hands in his pockets.

Sanji dials Zoro’s number and watches, amused, as the swordsman jumps in surprise from the sound of his phone.

“Turn the fuck around, Marimo.”

He watches as his friend slowly turns, his grip on his phone increasing. Sanji can see his forehead throb even with the distance between them. Sanji raises an eyebrow at him, challengingly. Zoro sticks out his tongue.

Sanji sits back in his chair and waits. 

The green-haired swordsman storms in, the tinkling chime of the door above him announcing his fury to the occupants. He turns the chair around and sits on it, resting his elbows on the back of the chair.

“Don’t. Say. A word.”

Sanji doesn’t. He just smirks.

This seems to irritate Zoro further than if Sanji had just said something.

Whichever way annoys the idiot more.

It’s just part of their relationship. They poke at each other’s shortcomings; Zoro should learn that life can’t be solved by slicing through everything, Sanji should stop playing Russian roulette with lung cancer, Zoro should man up and ask for directions, and Sanji should stop being so picky when people call him a cook instead of a chef, Zoro should learn how to have manners because it isn’t the stone age, and Sanji should take off his shoes before he kicks someone and breaks their bones. 

It’s always been this way.

They sit in silence.

“Say something, Curlicue!”

Sanji points at himself and a sly smile grows on his lips. “I’m allowed to talk now?”

“Shut up.”

“Which is it?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Sorry, left my caveman dictionary at home. Can you speak more slowly and enunciate?”

Zoro growls, a sound that starts in his gut and makes its way up his throat, his chest vibrating slightly when he grits his teeth. Sanji has to admit, he makes an impressive imitation of a lion, or maybe a really irritated green cat. 

He makes it too easy.

“Okay, in all seriousness, what’s up? You wanted to meet up for coffee, and you’ve wasted half of my break getting lost—”

“I didn’t get lost,” Zoro snaps. “The streets moved.”

Sanji raises an eyebrow.

“Has anyone ever told you how annoying your face is?”

“I’ve never had any complaints,” Sanji leans forward and grins. He bites his lip, expecting there to be a cigarette, but finds none. He licks his lips, tracing the remains of nicotine before they can leave. “Conis-chan, would you mind getting me a coffee? I take it black.”

“What a surprise,” Zoro deadpans.

“What?”

“It’s just fitting, matches your soul.”

“Did a third grader give you that insult?”

“You’re just jealous,—”

“Oh yes, I am, so very, very jealous of your wit and cunning word play. Enthral me, why don’t you, with your silver tongue, and educate my poor, lesser mind.”

“See, this is why I told Clay about you, you’d fit right in—”

“How dare you! I have so much more fashion sense than those cross-dressers—”

“So? That just means you’ll be the best dressed,” Zoro says with a smirk. “Show some leg, I hear that gives you extra tips.”

“Are you an idiot?”

“I’ve been told that,” Zoro hums. 

Conis comes by and hands Sanji his coffee. She flashes a smile at Zoro. “Anything for you?”

“I’m good,” Zoro says, dismissing her with his hand.

Sanji glares.

“You don’t lose anything by being polite,” he says.

“Oh yeah? If I conform to society, I lose my soul, and I’m going to need that. I already promised it to Lucy.”

“Did you just call the devil Lucy?”

Zoro shrugs. “Figured I’d better be casual, he’s gonna be seeing a lot of me one day.” He watches as Sanji stirs his coffee and wrinkles his nose at it. “What’s been new with you?”

“You grew up in that slum area, with all the graffiti, right?”

“I can tell how much you really appreciate my homeland,” Zoro says dryly. 

“Hush you,” Sanji dismisses him. “Anyway, how’d you get rid of it?”

“Get rid of it?” Zoro echoes.

“Yeah, like the shit on the walls.”

“You mean the graffiti?” 

“It’s the same thing,” Sanji says, rolling his eyes. Zoro frowns. “You know how I feel about vandalism, and plus, while I can tolerate the stuff I see on the way to work, this time it’s personal.”

Zoro tilts his head.

“They got to the Baratie.”

Zoro blinks.

“You’re not surprised by this?”

“You _are_?” Zoro shakes his head. “What, did you think they’d care you come from a rich sector? Taggers don’t give a fuck if you’re a dignified establishment, that sure as hell won’t stop them from spray painting crude dicks all over your window.”

Sanji folds his arms and doesn’t say a word. He gets the feeling that if he does speak, Zoro will probably make a point of judging him for how naive he sounds.

Zoro’s eyes scan over Sanji. He sighs deeply. “Look, was it full of swear words?”

“Well, no …”

“Were there any depictions of sex acts or anything sexual?”

“No …”

“Did it offend you?”

Sanji opens his mouth but Zoro cuts him off before he can say anything.

“Was it offensive for a reason _besides_ the fact that they turned your wall into a canvas?”

The cook grumbles, looking off to the side.

“I’ll take that as a no. If it’s not bugging anyone, leave it alone,” Zoro says. “I mean, is it anywhere that your customers are going to see it?”

“No …”

“Then just leave it.”

“But _I’ll_ see it! And it annoys me!” 

Zoro shakes his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Zoro opens his mouth, and then closes it, looking very much like a fish. He bites his lip and Sanji rolls his eyes.

“Oi, don’t overwork that brain cell, it’s the only one you’ve got.”

“I _was_ going to pay for your drink, but now I don’t think I will.”

“As if you could afford it.”

“It’s just coffee.”

“You can barely pay for your own rent, I doubt you can spare the cash on some luxury like coffee. Why don’t you quit the dojo? You said those brats were ungrateful anyway.”

“I’m good at fighting,—”

“But are you good at teaching? Cause maybe the reason why they’re so unmanageable has to do with you. I mean, you don’t have a face that makes me want to obey you,” Sanji points out. “If anything, it makes me want to hit it— oh, I see, that’s how you motivate them, isn’t it?”

“Shut your fucking face,” Zoro snaps. “Besides, even if I quit, where would I get money?”

“Sell your swords.”

Zoro glares at him. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Can’t, or _won’t_? They’re not the same thing, you know,” Sanji says, drumming his fingers on his arm. 

“I _can’t_ ,” Zoro repeats. 

“But you have so many! Who needs four swords?”

“People.”

“That’s weak.”

“Not as weak as you.”

“So you admit it’s weak?”

“I just insulted you, at least pretend to be offended.”

Sanji shrugs. “I think of your insults as annoying flies, they buzz around but don’t really do anything. Back on topic here, why don’t you just sell one of them? They’re antiques, right? You could get a fair amount of money from even _one_ of them.”

“Selling my swords are out of the question, so why don’t you drop it?”

Sanji holds up his hands in surrender. “Okay, fine, I’ll back off.” Sanji lifts his fingers to adjust the cigarette, to find it’s not there. He groans. “Fucking …”

“You need your fix?”

“I’m fine,” Sanji snaps, turning his head to the clock hanging above the counter. “My break’s almost over, I gotta get going.”

“You kidding me? It’s been like ten minutes!”

Sanji slips into his jacket and adjusts the collar and sleeves. He smooths the fabric, and lifts his shoe, inspecting underneath it. Once satisfied, he takes a cigarette from his pocket and rolls his eyes. “Learn to be punctual,” he says, and with that, he leaves, lighting his cigarette as he goes. 

* * *

_ii. a one-eyed man getting beaten in a fight_

* * *

Sanji is ready to track down the motherfucker who thinks they can keep painting his damn wall without any ramifications. He’s ready to crush them under his shoe, and he’s full of pent up aggression, so when he enters the dojo, he screams:

“FIGHT ME, MARIMO!”

Zoro is in the middle of a compromising situation, where his head is trapped between a girl’s legs, one of his arms forced behind his back. His face is turning blue. 

Zoro taps out and the girl gets off of him. She grins at him. “Did I do well, Sensei?”

Sanji has to stifle his laughter. Zoro? A sensei? It just doesn’t sound right.

“Yeah, good job, Apis, take a break.”

“ _That’s_ one of the kids who are tormenting you?” Sanji can’t hold back his laughter this time.

“What do you want? I’m busy.”

Sanji rolls his eyes. “Are you deaf as well as dumb?”

“I heard you. You can’t honestly think I’m going to fight you right now though, I’m on the clock.” The swordsman gestures to the kid who is happily drinking her energy drink.

“Do you really want me to beg?”

Zoro raises an eyebrow. “Is that even a question?”

“I’m not begging,” Sanji says quickly before Zoro can get too many ideas. He runs his hands through his hair and frowns. He’s reached the end of his cigarette.

“Sensei?”

Zoro turns. Sanji watches the odd sight of Zoro, speaking to a child. The swordsman lowers himself down to her level and nods. 

Apis is covering her mouth, coughing. “Can you make the smelly man leave?”

Zoro lets out a bark of laughter. “You heard the girl. Out, Curly Brow.”

“You can’t be serious!”

“The girl has spoken, you wouldn’t want to disrespect her, would you? It’d be very ungentlemanly of you,” Zoro says. “Unless you’re not nearly as chivalrous as you say you are.” 

Sanji huffs and throws the cigarette butt into the trash. _What a waste._ “Is that better?”

“What’s wrong with his face, sensei?” asks Apis, pointing at Sanji’s forehead.

“OI, YOU LISTEN HERE YOU LITTLE PIECE OF—”

“Language!”

It’s funny to hear _Zoro_ of all people say such a thing, especially since Zoro has one of the dirtiest mouths Sanji has ever seen on a person. He turns back to Apis, on one knee, a hand on her shoulder. “I know we’ve got another half hour left of the lesson. Would you mind if my friend stayed and watched?”

Apis looks up at Sanji. For some reason, the blond never remembered how small kids can be. “I’m Apis. Who are you?”

“I’m—”

“Ero-cook.”

Sanji turns on Zoro and glares. “I’m Sanji.”

“That’s what I said,” says the moss-haired man. He dusts off his hands and whistles under his breath before taking a stance on the mat. “Now be quiet, and sit tight. Apis and I are about to go for a round two.”

“Don’t go easy on me, Sensei,” says Apis. “I hate it when adults go easy on me.”

“I didn’t go easy on you,” says Zoro indignantly. “You’re really strong.”

Sanji rolls his eyes. Zoro is so obviously lying.

“Wanna count us in, Ero-cook?”

Sanji glares at Zoro, but he smiles at the young girl who’s just spoken. “Alright.” He lifts his arm. “On the count of three. One … Two … Three!”

The girl launches herself forward, her teeth sinking into Zoro’s arm. Zoro forcefully pushes her off with much less care than Sanji thinks he should be using. She hits the mat, and Zoro goes to punch her. He’s quick, as quick as he is when he fights Sanji, but Apis catches his fist and pushes against him. Sanji watches in amazement as Zoro actually struggles to get out of her grip, before he changes tactics and tries to twist her wrist into a position it should never be in. 

Apis kicks out at him, her legs doing nothing to his chest. She twists, against the way Zoro’s bending her arm and slithers out from his grip. She then uses her full force to fall onto Zoro’s side and the swordsman lets out a gasp of surprise. With him distracted, she wraps an ankle around Zoro’s leg and pulls, forcing him to stay put. 

Zoro gets his arms out, about to bridge off of her, but she grabs onto his hair and pulls. Zoro lets out a scream and Apis gets him into a choke-hold.

Well _damn_ … Sanji was _not_ expecting that.

Zoro taps out and Sanji stands, dumbstruck. 

Zoro just got his ass whipped. _By a girl._

Sanji watches the rest of the session. Sometimes, Zoro manages to take her, sometimes, she beats him. She holds her own fairly well, but then again, Apis is like ten years old, Sanji lacks confidence in Zoro being serious against her.

When they’re done, Apis bows to Zoro, and slings her gym bag over her shoulder. She waves at Sanji, when he reaches out and holds her arm.

“Hey, Apis-chan,” he says in a quiet voice. Zoro is looking at him strangely. “How do you know he isn’t going easy on you?”

Apis grins widely. “Because he never goes easy on me.”

“But how do you know?”

“Well …” she taps her chin thoughtfully. “He’s really strong, right? When I first started I could never win, he doesn’t really care if I get hurt. He feels bad if I get injured, but if it helps him escape, he does it and just feels bad later. I’ve blacked out a few times, and he sprained my wrist once.” 

_Why is she grinning so much?_

“Don’t you think he’s rough with you?”

“No,” Apis says. “I mean, I thought so at first, but now, not really. I know he never goes easy on me, and that means when I beat him, I beat him fair and square. I mean he still wins most of the time, but I _can_ beat him. It means I’m getting stronger.”

Sanji has no words.

“It was nice meeting you, Ero-cook.”

The blond watches her go, unable to move, dumbstruck at the girl’s confidence. There’s a bounce in her step as she makes her way.

“Bit young for you, don’t you think?”

Sanji rolls his eyes. “Shut up and fight me, Marimo.”

“Kinda tired …”

“You’re such a fucking liar.”

Zoro smirks. “I thought you were the one with the manners. Where are they now, eh, Shit-Cook?” He chuckles to himself, as if he’s so funny and goes to clean himself up.

Sanji kicks Zoro in the shoulder, his heel pressing against his neck. The swordsman grabs his foot before he can pull his leg back. Before Sanji can blink, Zoro has twisted Sanji’s leg around his neck, and body slammed against the floor. In the milliseconds Sanji lays there dazed, Zoro gets Sanji into a submission, sitting on Sanji’s stomach, curling his fist around Sanji’s arm, pulling it down at an odd angle.

It doesn’t really hurt.

“Shit, how fucking flexible are you?”

“Very.”

Sanji lifts his legs and wraps them around Zoro’s neck. He thrusts upwards and Zoro freezes. The cook takes this opportunity to make space between him and the floor, shift to the side, and with his legs still wrapped around Zoro’s head, slam his head down against the dojo mat.

Zoro blinks, dazed, but Sanji isn’t done. He readjusts the way his legs are, now that he can be more mobile and Zoro chokes.

“How the fuck are you doing a choke holding with your legs?” It’s raspy, mainly because of the pressure he’s putting on Zoro’s windpipe.

“Do you yield?”

Zoro pushes against Sanji’s legs, the tight hold Sanji has managed to capture him into loosens, and he slips out, but Sanji kicks him in the forehead. Zoro teeters backwards, but doesn’t fall. He grabs Sanji’s ankle and forces his leg to bend when suddenly Zoro changes his mind.

He wraps his legs around Sanji’s, and caught off guard, Sanji freezes. Zoro manages to crawl his way up Sanji’s chest, with their legs too entangled to do much, and Zoro gets him into a choke hold.

“You a cuddler?” Sanji hisses out, trying to breathe.

“When I feel like it,” Zoro says with a shrug. 

Sanji pushes against Zoro, and though the man tenses, he doesn’t let go. Sanji will have to use his hands to get out of this one, they both know it, but they also both know Sanji will never endanger his hands like that. It’s too easy to break something as fragile as fingers, especially when your opponent is Roronoa Zoro.

Sanji tries to headbutt him, but Zoro holds strong.

“What do you say, eh, Curly Brow?”

“Fucker. Let me go.”

“I don’t think I will.”

Sanji struggles against him, but Zoro’s chest feels like a brick wall. Nothing is giving. “You’re a bastard, anyone ever told you?”

“Once or twice,” Zoro shrugs. “So?”

“Eat shit.”

“Wrong answer, sorry.”

He doesn’t sound very sorry.

Sanji squirms, rubbing up against Zoro’s torso. He tries to catch him off guard again, but it doesn’t seem to be a move that can be pulled twice. So instead, Sanji just squeezes his legs, even tighter, hoping Zoro will give into the pain. 

“Okay, I’ll strike you a deal,” Zoro compromises. 

“What kind of deal?”

The Marimo’s grip has loosened slightly, not enough for Sanji to break free, but enough for him to breathe comfortably. 

“You tell me what’s got you all fired up, and I’ll let you go.”

Sanji scoffs. “You’re a terrible negotiator.”

“Or I could ask you for a kiss?”

The blond shivers, Zoro’s words whispered into his ear, eliciting an autonomous reaction out of him. He doesn’t think about it, he just wants to get out of this predicament. “I …”

“Hmm?”

Zoro’s arms loosen. He now rests his chin comfortably on Sanji’s shoulder, and if this were anyone else, Sanji would say he was _flirting_ with him. It’s a lot more brutish than Sanji would’ve done, but of course, that can’t be helped, it _is_ Zoro. But Zoro has the sex drive of an asexual reproducing plant. Sanji’s pretty sure Zoro can’t even feel attraction, never mind where that attraction is directed.

“It was the tagger.”

Sanji turns his head slightly and is able to see Zoro on his shoulder, frowning slightly. He crinkles his nose for a moment, something in his eyes that Sanji can’t identify flashing briefly before it’s gone. “The tagger?”

“Yeah.”

“What, they do something again?”

“Would I be talking about them if they hadn’t?”

“Fair point.” Zoro hums in agreement. “So what did they do this time?”

“They put another stupid fucking picture that doesn’t make any sense,” Sanji huffs. “It was like … some guy getting like judo flipped by some girl. The dude only had one eye, don’t have the slightest idea why.”

“How’d you know it was a girl?”

“I think the pointy triangles were supposed to be her … assets?” 

Zoro chuckles. It warms Sanji in a way he doesn’t want to think about. “Oh come on, Mr Charmer, you’re telling me you can’t even say the word ‘boobs’?”

“It’s demeaning,” Sanji says, turning red.

“Fine, then call them tits.”

“That’s even worse!”

“Say it,” Zoro challenges. “Say tits. I will accept hooters, honkers, or milk balls of flesh.”

“You are so disgusting,” Sanji says, leaning back against Zoro’s chest, giving him a glare.

“Say it.”

“Are you six?”

“You still haven’t said it … so I guess I’ll up the ante. If you don’t say tits, or some other deviation of it, then I will also make you say something like pussy, or cunt or—”

“Bosom.”

Zoro blinks.

“Did you just—”

Sanji is a tomato.

“You really _are_ chivalrous, aren’t you?” Zoro laughs. Sanji feels it against his back, the way Zoro shakes slightly and trembles. “ _Kami_ , are you some kind of blushing virgin or something?”

“Shut up, Marimo,—”

“I mean, do girls actually _like_ that shit? I bet you can’t even say breast. When you order a chicken, do you order a chicken bosom?”

“It’s not like you actually know how to get girls,” Sanji snaps.

“Oh yes, teach me, oh Great One,” Zoro says, batting his eyelashes. So close to him, Sanji can see each one, and they’re surprisingly long. 

“You have an eyelash,” he says, his voice dropping in volume. Reaching up slowly, the cook takes the long eyelash out of Zoro’s way.

“You could’ve poked out my eye,” Zoro grumbles, but it all seems very lighthearted.

Sanji is about to flick it off his finger when Zoro grabs his wrist.

“What, I don’t get a wish?”

“A wish?”

“You know, eyelash wishes.”

“That’s stupid.”

“You’re stupid.”

“Look, will you let me make my wish or not?”

Sanji rolls his eyes, but he nods. “Make it quick.”

“Hey, don’t rush me, I gotta make it good.”

Zoro closes his eyes and Sanji sees that up close, his skin isn’t as rough as he would think. His earrings sway slightly, chiming softly. There’s no hint of stubble on his face.

Zoro leans closer and blows on the eyelash on Sanji’s finger. When he opens his eyes slowly, Sanji is struck by how grey his eyes are. They remind him of a storm, dark and fierce, but they’re also like steel, strong and bold.

Is Zoro … getting closer?

Sanji’s phone falls off one of the benches, vibrating. 

It’s then that Sanji realizes that he’s been sitting in Zoro’s lap for the past while for no good reason. As they spoke, Zoro untangled their legs. The blond scrambles away from the swordsman, taking his phone in hand.

It’s Zeff.

By the time Sanji hangs up, after being yelled at for suddenly disappearing during his shift, Zoro has stood up, slung his bag over his shoulder and is waving him goodbye.

Weird.

Sanji decides not to dwell on it.

* * *

 

_iii. a sleeping man_

* * *

Sometimes Sanji can admit he worries about Zoro.

For instance, when they make plans to see each other once Zoro gets off work and when Sanji comes around his apartment to make sure he makes good on his promise —because the damn tagger strikes again and Sanji is _sick of it_ , dammit, the Baratie is private property and he has to rant—, and he finds Zoro passed out on his couch.

The swordsman is spread out across the cushions, still dressed in his work-out clothes. There are pit stains on his shirt and his feet stink after working barefoot on a mat for hours. Sanji can imagine how he came home.

After a day of work, Zoro lumbers home, kicks off his shoes and starts the TV to relax for a bit, and promptly falls asleep. The cooking channel is playing, which Sanji finds hilarious because Zoro is the king of takeout. 

The blond sighs. Marimo can be so gross. It kinda feels like Sanji owns his own marimo, but he knows it’d be less maintenance than Zoro. 

_Why didn’t he jump into a shower? Unless he’d fall asleep in the shower … yeah, he’d probably do that._

Sanji can’t tell whether or not he’s grateful that Zoro hasn’t showered. While it smells disgusting, he can’t imagine how he’d have dealt with a passed out, naked Zoro. Leave his drinking buddies to deal with him when he’s like that.

The apartment itself is a mess, with clothes strewn about and a trail of crumbs leading to the couch. The cook wrinkles his nose in distaste. He’s not sure how Zoro manages to live on his own, even Chopper and Usopp share an apartment together, Nami and Luffy have moved in together, and Robin is probably the only one of his friends he can trust to be independent. Brooke and Franky have joined together to create one of the noisiest households; Brooke is always playing violin, Franky is always tinkering, and then Brooke is yelling he can’t hear his music over Franky’s welding and Franky can’t concentrate with Brooke’s music. 

Sanji grumbles to himself and begins to pick up the mess, putting the dirty clothes into a bag, and writing laundry on it, before he moves to the kitchen and nearly cries when he sees how barren the shelves are.

No human being can live in these kinds of conditions.

Sanji knows Zoro doesn’t get the greatest pay, but he has to pay rent, and probably indulges more in his alcoholism than anything else, which would explain the reason he only owns so many clothes. 

Once Sanji has organized what little is in Zoro’s fridge and cabinets, he writes a grocery list. He knows Zoro won’t feed himself, but if he just asked, Sanji could probably make him something, or he could stop by the Baratie and whip something up for him.

Once Sanji has cleared the entirety of the living room, he sees Zoro’s gym bag. 

It’s the only thing that hasn’t been aggressively thrown around. Figures. Knowing Zoro, he probably has his swords in there and those are the only things he treats with any hint of care.

Sanji sits on Zoro’s coffee table, staring at the sleeping swordsman. 

He really _is_ gross, but there’s no mistaking that Zoro is handsome. He has a wide forehead, which Sanji will make fun of him for, but his eyes are always so focused and serious. He rarely smiles, but his resting face has this neutral seriousness. It’s not exactly inviting and some would argue that it’s intimidating and scary, but then Zoro will open his mouth and you’ll realize that he won’t hurt anyone, so long as they don’t give him a reason to. His hands are calloused from working with swords all day long, and he’s muscular, but he’s not bulky. 

Sanji turns off the TV and sighs. Well, he supposes he has no other option than to just wait.

It’s strange. If he tilts his head a bit, Zoro kinda looks like the figure in the graffiti.

Today Sanji was greeted with the image of a sleeping man. They were laid out on their back, staring at the ceiling, or, Sanji supposes, the sky, his arms and legs spread out, a little bubble indicating they were snoring. Like the fight scene, the man laying down had been a silhouette without any defining features.

If Sanji is being honest with himself, he’s stopped thinking of it as vandalism. It really _is_ pretty, he can admit that much. The detail and intricacy of the compass aside (Sanji still hasn’t figured out why it won’t point north), the fight scene had looked as if it was in motion, so fluid and perfectly executed. The sleeping man was simple, but effective. The shadows drew your attention.

In the corner of each addition to the wall, there was a signature. The mark of a tagger. The ones who signed their art with a fake name, just to take credit, even slightly. It was a jolly roger that had three swords, two replacing the crossbones and one in the skull’s mouth, a bandana around the skull’s head.

Maybe if Sanji asked, Zoro could tell him a bit about the swords? They were very nicely decorated, despite the fact that they were pretty small in comparison to the images. The images went around in a semi-circular fashion, which made them spread out and Sanji couldn’t tell if that irritated him more than if they were just all clumped together.

The blond eyes the gym bag, and pulls it towards him. He unzips the bag and sees three swords. Sanji has always known that Zoro likes to collect swords, but carrying around _three_ with him at a time? That’s a bit of overkill.

He pulls them closer to him when suddenly Zoro reaches out and grabs him.

Sanji freezes.

“Let. Go.”

Sanji drops the swords.

The blond watches as Zoro sits up slowly and rears his head at him. “Oh.” He frowns. “When did you get here?”

“We were supposed to be going out?”

Zoro’s brown furrows. “What?”

“With Luffy? A while ago?”

“Oh.” Zoro nods, his jaw clenched.

“Something wrong?”

“Nothing.”

It doesn’t sound like nothing, but Sanji drops it.

Zoro twists on the couch and frowns. “What … happened around here?”

“I cleaned up.”

“You … but the room …”

“Yeah, that’s what the floor looks like, Marimo.” Sanji rolls his eyes. “I feel like a maid. Clean up your own shit next time. Your kitchen is disgusting, buy some actual groceries. All you have in there is beer. Are you hungover again?”

“No,” Zoro snaps.

“It’s three in the afternoon.”

Sanji wonders if his nervous tone gives him away. He’ll die before he lets Zoro know that he worries about him sometimes. It’s hard to have a friend like Zoro, who never seems to take care of himself. Sanji is pretty sure he’s going to die of alcohol poisoning, or liver failure and he’ll be damned if the Marimo ever finds out, but he’d miss him.

“Worried about me, Love Cook?”

“Like hell I am,” Sanji rolls his eyes, lighting up a new cigarette.

“Oi, you’ll set off the smoke alarm,” Zoro growls. “I will not have the landlord on my back because of your stupid habit, you hear me?”

Sanji sighs and puts out the cigarette on the coffee table full of soya sauce stains. “Whatever, don’t get your kimono in a twist.”

Zoro scoffs. “Whatever. Let’s go—”

“We’re late, the movie is over, Luffy is probably making out with Nami.”

“I don’t even believe that boy has hormones.”

“Yeah well, apparently he does. He isn’t very subtle, is he?”

“I mean no, he’s not but still …”

“Come on, get off your fucking ass, the least you can do is treat me to something.”

“As if you’re not going to complain about the food?” Zoro snorts. “You are the fucking pickiest eater _ever_ —”

“I’m sorry if I have refined tastebuds—”

“You’ll have no tastebuds if you keep smoking away like a chimney!”

“You’re just jealous I have better taste than you—”

“You’re such a snobbish cook, and you’re not even a _good_ one—”

“I’m a _chef_ , asshole, and I’m sorry if I can make a better sashimi in my sleep than the pathetic excuse for a meal some restaurants dish out!”

“If you were some kind of food critic, you’d run so many people out of business,” Zoro says. “You’re just way too picky—”

“You eat anything and everything, like the animal you are!” Sanji crosses his arms and taps his foot. “If you keep making quips about me, I’ll make you unredeemable.”

“Oh dear, what will I do then?”

“You better treat me to something, like fucking … you owe me a movie, and a meal! You’ve offended me, so now you have to do both!”

“Haven’t we just gone over how you’d hate anything you get served anyway?”

“It’s about the principle!”

“It’s a fucking stupid principle!”

Sanji throws his hands up. “Whatever, you know what? I don’t care. Just sort yourself out, figure out how to not live in your own piles of shit, and get back to me when you have more dishes than takeout tupperware, and then we’ll talk. It’s not like you can afford to take me out on a date anyway.”

“D-date?”

_Did Zoro just choke?_

“I mean figuratively,” Sanji says. He stops and stares at Zoro. _Why’s he so tense?_ “You okay?”

Zoro swallows. “Yeah, I’m fine, what makes you think I’m not?”

“Um, the way you just freaked out?”

“It’s nothing, those cigarettes are messing with your head, Shitty Cook.”

Sanji lets it go.

* * *

 

_iv. a cheap pack of beer_

* * *

“ZOOOOOOOOOOOOOORO!”

_Shit._

Zoro jumps to attention, nearly tripping over himself as he races for the door to his apartment. Sanji _never_ calls him Zoro, and furthermore, never like that. Zoro shakes his head. He can’t think dirty thoughts, that’s bad, something has happened to Sanji that he thinks it’s okay to call Zoro by his first name (it’s _more_ than okay, but Sanji sure as hell doesn’t know that).

When he opens the door, he sees the blond leaning against the doorway with a stupid smile on his face.

_Double shit._

“You’re drunk.”

“Meeeeee?” Sanji laughs and it sends shivers down Zoro’s spine, but he forces them down. He’s gotten very good at this. “Am not!” Sanji holds up a pack of beer and grins. “But I plan to be!”

It almost happens in slow motion, the way Sanji leans forward and tumbles into Zoro’s arms, his balance completely thrown off. His legs drag behind him and _my God they go on for miles and miles and miles and— Focus, Zoro._ The heavy cans of beer smacks against Zoro’s side, but he ignores them.

Zoro places his arms underneath Sanji’s armpits and drags him forward, closing the apartment door behind him using his foot. Sanji follows his movements like a corpse, giggling excessively. Sanji is too much of a lightweight to be trusted.

“How much have you had to drink?”

Sanji holds up two fingers and laughs. “Only five!”

Zoro rolls his eyes and plops Sanji onto his couch. He paces, unsure of what to do with a drunk Sanji on his hands. Sanji isn’t much of a drinker, at most he has that fancy champagne, so why is he like this?

“Oi, what made you get plastered?”

“Hmm?” Sanji laughs and one of these days, that sound is going to kill Zoro. “Oh, blame Tag.”

“Tag?”

“Like it? I came up with it. I think they’d appreciate my creativity!” Sanji’s words are slurring together at an alarming rate. Zoro takes a seat on his coffee table, feeling like Freud. “Tag. You’re it!” Sanji bursts out into giggles. It feels … _wrong._

“Yeah, you’re a mastermind,” Zoro deadpans. “Look, how about you tell me a bit more?”

“Eh … I saw the latest addition. Did you know they don’t put them on the fucking wall properly? They’re like … _in a circle_. It’s fucking annoying.”

Zoro chuckles to himself. “Oh yeah?”

“ _So_ fucking annoying,” Sanji repeats. “What was I talking about again?”

“The tagger?”

“Oh right!” Sanji raises the pack of beer into the air, reminding Zoro of the raising of that lion in that one movie that made Sanji cry. “Tag! He’s such an asshole! I think he’s a he? Maybe? I dunno, don’t wanna be sexist, girls can fuck up my life too, equal opportunity and all that crap.”

“Right …”

“Anyway, it has this cheap ass pack of beer, and like, it didn’t look cheap, cause it was like so well done! SOOOO well done, I kinda felt tempted to have it, so I ended up buying some.” Sanji points to the beer with one hand, but the imbalance of weight makes it fall and it lands on the ground, crashing against Zoro’s foot. He holds in a wince.

“It’s cheap as hell, but damn is it strong!”

“Did you drink a whole pack before this?”

“Maaaaybeeeee …”

He’ll take that as a yes.

Sanji hiccups.

Zoro wants to die.

“So I’ve been thinking, s’not fair.”

“What’s not fair?”

“The fucking art is so fucking pretty, it’s not fucking fair, cuz like, I _want_ to hate it, but it’s _too fucking pretty,_ like how you’re so fucking hot and I _want_ to hate you for it, but like, I _can’t_ because you’re too fucking hot to hate!” Sanji moans, covering his face with his arm. 

Zoro chuckles to himself.

“I’m hot?”

Sanji freezes, and takes his arm away. He leans forward way too much for Zoro’s liking, and quite frankly, Zoro is kinda concerned about the way Sanji’s wrapped his leg around the foot of the table to keep his balance. “Psst!” Sanji giggles. He reeks of alcohol and Zoro finds it adorable, but also kind of disturbing. “Don’t tell Zoro!”

“Aaaaand you’re wayyy too drunk.” Zoro stands, when Sanji pulls him back down, wrapping his hand around in the fabric of Zoro’s shirt. 

“Stay!”

Fuck, he’s too cute for him.

Zoro grumbles, shaking his head. “You really need water, or else you’ll be feeling this in the morning.”

“WAIT!” 

Sanji’s loud voice is startling to Zoro, and apparently to Sanji who giggles. “I scared myself!” he grins. “Before you go! Tell me something, kay? Tell me something Zoro, will ya?”

“What do you want to know?” Zoro asks, trying to figure out how to slip away without Sanji’s noticing.

“What do you think of men like … _sexually_?”

Zoro chokes.

“What?” he croaks.

“Do you like … have you ever thought of men in like … _that_ way?”

Zoro stares at the blond spread out on his couch with his tie half-undone, his buttons mostly popped open, his sleeves rolled up, smoking a cigarette. His long legs tangle themselves in each other and he’s looking at Zoro with those eyes of his, the ones that always strike fear in Zoro’s heart because every time Sanji sets his eyes on him like that, he feels like he just _knows_ , he _must_ know, and Zoro must be _so fucking obvious_ —

_Fuck me._

“You need to go to sleep.”

Sanji shakes his head and frowns. “No, no, wait, cause like I’ve been thinking about like … it wouldn’t be that bad if like, the tagger was a guy. Cause I hear, like, hate sex is like, the _best_ sex EVER, and I mean, I think it might be hot, to have angry hate sex with him,” Sanji says. His head lollies in a way that makes Zoro worried for his neck. “I think hate sex with him would be like, amazing, mind-blowing, like pass out from the orgasm type of thing. I mean, like, I heard some people can actually _black out_ from one of those things. Adds an element of danger, don’t ya think?” Sanji hums thoughtfully. “Yeah, I think if Tag was a guy, I’d hate fuck him.”

Zoro is dying. Someone smite him now. This isn’t healthy for him.

“Hey, Zoro?” Sanji says. “I wanna just try something—”

“What are—”

“Shush, Marimo, no talking,” Sanji says with a giggle, and he grabs Zoro’s shirt and pulls him in for a kiss.

It’s messy as hell. Sanji doesn’t know what he’s doing, like he’s never kissed someone before. He tastes like alcohol, his tongue is invading Zoro’s mouth and the swordsman is pretty sure Sanji is literally trying to drown him in his saliva. The blond grabs some of Zoro’s skin while pulling him forward, so there’s a pain in his chest, but it’s numb in comparison to the way their faces smack against each other and their teeth knock and Sanji bites his lip and Zoro is pretty sure he’s _bleeding_ now, and Sanji’s other hand is groping Zoro’s ass and Zoro is trying to slow it down because he doesn’t know when on Earth something like this is going to happen again, or if it ever _will_ , and then Sanji is making a weird noise and Zoro pushes him away.

“BREATHE, IDIOT!”

Sanji’s blue in the face. He looks lightheaded, but he’s smiling a lot. “Hmm … might not be bad if I had to hate fuck you,” Sanji says contemplatively. “I mean, I don’t hate you, so it’s not _true_ hate fucking, is it?” He sighs. “I was really looking forward to rough hate sex, guess I’ll settle for like semi-hate sex …” he laughs. “What am I saying? You’re not the tagger! Never mind, full-on hate sex is still gonna happen! Hey, Zoro, how do I make myself fuckable?”

Zoro gulps.

Is God testing him? Is this punishment for never believing in Him? 

“Nothing, you’re perfect.”

“You’re my frenemy, you have to say that,” Sanji laughs, his neck exposed and Zoro clenches his fist because he will _not_ do something stupid like take advantage of him but after the past few weeks, Zoro feels like _he’s_ the one taken advantage of and he’s just sat there and taken it because it’s _Sanji_ and it’s pathetic the way he is around him. 

“Sanji …” Zoro lets the name slip. He never calls him Sanji, _never_ to his face because he just knows that saying his name reveals way too much. He’d be able to tell in an instant and Zoro isn’t ready to deal with that yet (can’t ever deal with it really). He’s not going to remember this. 

“I ... “ Zoro shuts his eyes tightly, he can’t stand to see Sanji’s face, even in his drunken state, when he says it. “I never lie when I’m around you. I just … if you think I’m hot, you … you’re …” Zoro chuckles, but it almost sounds like a sob and it’s not because he’s sad, because Zoro has never felt sorry for himself, he’s just so fucking _frustrated_ , he can’t even … “You’re fucking _beautiful_ , and Christ, I know it’s wrong to say it, but … I’m glad no one’s realized it yet. But when someone does, I really wish you knew that I’ve always known, _I saw it first_ , but I know that doesn’t mean shit to you … because you don’t care, do you? You don’t care as much as I do, and I wish I could care less, but I _can’t_ and it’s all your fucking fault, you bastard! 

“I hate you, I hate you so fucking much, for doing this to me. Because I can’t even hate you properly, you bastard. I can’t even …” Zoro breathes in deeply. “Fuck this, I love you, and if you don’t love me, too fucking bad, I can’t change it, trust me I’ve tried, and you won’t even fucking remember this, will you?”

Zoro opens his eyes.

Of course the asshole is asleep.

 

  
Sanji’s head is killing him.

Nothing around him is familiar. Where the fuck is he? He sits up, but it’s too fast. Holding his head, he tries to identify where he is. There’s a glass of water and some painkillers. He takes them without question. 

Slowly, he walks into the living room to see Zoro standing at the counter with eggs made. “Bout time you woke up, Dart Brow.”

“Not so loud …”

“Now you know what it’s like to have a hangover. Congratulations on finally hitting the hard liquor,” Zoro muses. 

“I didn’t do anything stupid, did I?”

“Define stupid.” He’s tense. Why?

“Like, I didn’t tell you about how … I secretly give the ladies more on their appetizers than I should?”

“My God, your definition of embarrassing and mine are so different. You are _such_ a boring drunk, let me tell you.” Zoro rolls his eyes. The tension leaves his shoulders and Sanji’s almost certain he imagined it.

“You didn’t prank me while I slept, did you?”

“What, like draw a moustache on your face? You look weird enough without my help.”

“Thanks,” Sanji says dryly. “I’m gonna go and get myself sorted out. I’ll see you later.”

Zoro nods, stiff.

Sanji puts on his jacket, lights up a cigarette and leaves, without looking back.

* * *

 

_v. an empty wallet_

* * *

Sanji has had it.

He’s not sure why the empty, flimsy wallet (again, infuriatingly well made) has set him off, (no, he knows why, because he can’t stand looking at it and all the others and _not_ call it art anymore and it ruins his morals) but it _has_ and Sanji is ready to take a paint brush to the brick and get rid of it.

He marches into the paint shop, the bell ringing pleasantly above him. The guy behind the cash smiles at him, but once he sees Sanji’s expression, he seems to hide into his own body, recoiling.

Sanji doesn’t need his approval.

He stares at the rows and rows of paint, clicking his tongue. He saw the no-smoking sign, and without a cigarette to crush underneath his fingertips, he feels even more aggravated. He bends down and stares at the paint cans.

The Baratie has a red wall, but Sanji has never really thought about it in specifics. He’s never really look at it that much, the wall is red, the same way Zoro has green hair. Sanji doesn’t dwell on the little things. But he doesn’t know which shade it is. There should never be so many shades of red.

“Oi, employee!” Sanji calls, waving at the man behind the cash.

“Me?” the man chokes.

“You see anyone else?” Sanji snaps, gesturing towards the rather vacant shop.

The man rushes around from the cash to Sanji and salutes him. Sanji frowns. “What are you doing?”

“Reporting in, sir!”

“Don’t do that, it’s weird,” Sanji says. “Look at these paints. You ever been to the Baratie?”

The employee nods, his brow sweating profusely. “Once, for my sis’ engagement party—”

“Great story. Can you tell me which one of these reds is most like it?” Sanji cuts him off. He doesn’t have a lot of time, going on his break and such.

“I only went once, two years ago—”

“So you can’t help me?”

“I can try and remember, but the thing is—”

“I’m short on time, can you hurry it up a bit?”

“See, the thing is—”

Sanji’s phone rings.

“Hold that thought,” Sanji says, taking out his phone. 

“Where are you?”

Sanji blinks. “Marimo?”

“I was actually _on time_ , for once,—”

“I call bullshit on that,” Sanji says with a scoff.

There’s a pause. “Okay, I was like, thirteen minutes late, but that’s a new record. Where are you?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Sanji says, putting his phone in the dip of his shoulder, holding it against his ear. He turns to the employee again. He’s trembling. Oh, maybe Sanji could be more polite … “What are you doing, calling me?”

“Trying to figure out where you are. The old man told me you just up and ran out when your break started,” Zoro says. He sounds pretty pissed. “Don’t tell me you’ve done something stupid like tried to raid a sword store to cut up that tagger—”

“Oh please, I’m not _you_.” Sanji rolls hi eyes. “If you must know, I’m in Lvneel, think you can find it?”

“Look outside.”

Sanji slowly turns around to see Zoro in the store window, waving at him, a coffee in his hand. “Stalker much?” he asks into his phone.

Zoro hangs up on him and enters the store. He gives Sanji a strange look, glancing between Sanji and the employee. “You’re asking Kyousuke for help with paint colours?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Kyousuke’s colour blind.”

Sanji turns to the employee who looks ready to soil his pants. “You are?”

“Y-yeah …”

“Why didn’t you say that before?”

“You probably terrified him,” Zoro says, rolling his eyes. “Kyou, you can go back to the cash, I’ll handle him.” 

Sanji watches as Kyousuke practically runs to the counter and bars himself behind it.

“He could’ve mentioned it sooner,” the cook grumbles.

“Yeah, like you gave him a chance to speak?” Zoro scoffs. “If you’re looking for the Baratie’s colour, it’s a cherry red.” Zoro drops to his knees and pulls a paint can off the shelf. “You don’t know what kind of shade of red your wall is. That’s just sad.”

“Are you an interior decorator or something, that you know this stuff? And how did you know that guy’s name?” Sanji can feel himself losing his anger. He’s letting it go, and it might have to do with Zoro, but he’ll say it’s because the intensity seems to have decreased. 

“I uh …” Zoro shakes his head. “Doesn’t really matter. Anyway, you’ll need like, three cans to cover the stuff the tagger did.”

Sanji has more questions, but he doesn’t voice any of them. He doesn’t know what will happen if he continues this line of questioning, if Zoro will crush under the pressure or something, so he keeps it to himself because the swordsman looks a bit pent-up. 

“I’ll pay for it,” Zoro says, “and here’s your coffee.” He holds out the black coffee to Sanji. 

“You don’t have to do that—”

“I want to,” Zoro says with a shrug. He goes up to the cash and Sanji follows behind him, not sure what to do with himself as Zoro walks around the store with a familiarity that seems strange to Sanji.

“That’ll be 45 00 yen,” says Kyousuke, who seems to have relaxed since Zoro has entered the shop. 

There’s silence.

“You don’t have enough, do you?”

“I do too,” says Zoro.

“Your face says everything, you so do not have enough,” Sanji says. “It’s fine, I’ll pay for it—”

“I would be able to pay for it if your coffee wasn’t so fucking expensive—”

“My coffee is like, 700 yen,” Sanji says with an eye roll.

“Split it, I can split it,” Zoro says, his face turning red and Sanji isn’t sure if it’s because he’s angry or flustered. “I can pay half.”

“Can you?”

Zoro cannot.

He can pay about one-third, and he’s very bitter about it.

Sanji thinks it’s hilarious.

* * *

 

_vi. a wrong math equation_

* * *

“Oi, what are you doing back here, Marimo?” Sanji demands. His hands are too occupied with the onions he’s slicing, but he wishes he could grab the scruff of Zoro’s shirt and pull him back before he does something stupid.

The busy and crowded kitchen of the Baratie is the worst place on Earth for a man like Roronoa Zoro, who is about as graceful as an elephant on rollerblades when he’s not fighting.

“Just thought I’d drop by—”

“Are you touching something?” Sanji demands. He throws the onions into the soup and begins stirring the pot. He can’t afford to look away while he’s making it.

“Don’t trust me, cook?”

“Are. You. Touching. Something?” 

“No …”

“Drop it.”

There’s a klank.

“Were you playing with the ladle again?” Sanji groans. “Now I have to disinfect it. I don’t have time for this, you know it’s rush hour—”

“Disinfect it? Am I diseased to you or something?”

“Might as well be,” Sanji mutters. He lowers the setting on the stove and throws a dish towel at Zoro. “Wash it. And then don’t touch anything else, this isn’t a petting zoo, it’s where I work.”

“Maybe I can help?” Zoro asks, staring at the rag in disgust.

Sanji turns back to the stove. “Mr Take Out? I don’t think so. Just stand in the corner, and—”

_CRASH!_

“Oops …”

The cook is going to _strangle_ the swordsman, and he’s going to do it with gloves on and no one will be able to lift prints off of his neck, and then he can continue on with his life as if there isn’t a dead body on the floor.

Sanji grabs a cook-in-training, Taijo. He looks kind of cute, with his too large hat that falls into his eyes. “Grab a stool and look over the stove,” Sanji instructs him.

“Sir! Yes sir!” the kid salutes.

What is it with people and saluting? Sanji shakes his head and strides over to the swordsman who is staring at the counter.  “Tell me you didn’t touch the spice rack.”

“Spice rack?”

“The rack with all the little containers that have small labels on them next to the second stove?”

“Oh, _that’s_ what that was …”

Sanji pinches his nose and breathes deeply. “How many times have I told you not to visit me at work?” The cigarette grinds between his teeth and he growls. “When we take inventory for how much of the spices we use, I’ll let the old fart know it’s your fault we’re short. Why are you here, and when will you leave?” Sanji pushes Zoro with his hip to get out of his way as he begins to clean up the spices, wincing. The smell is strong. Some spices are just _not_ meant to be mixed together.

“I can help—”

“I think you’ve done enough.”

Zoro takes a step back, as though he’s been hit. “You don’t have to be an asshole about it—”

“Are _you_ paying for the ingredients?” Sanji snaps back. He glances back at Zoro, who is fuming, but he’s containing it, probably so as not to cause anymore damage to his surroundings. “Never mind. What was so important you couldn’t wait for my break?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Zoro says, turning up his chin. 

“Now you’re acting like a child.”

“Am not.”

“Luffy is more mature than you—”

“Hey!”

Sanji grins, unable to help himself. Zoro is just so predictable sometimes. 

“Look, I’m all ears, if you want right now,” the blond says. “I mean, a few minutes off, it’s close to my break anyway. The old man won’t mind too much.” 

Zoro bites his lip. He looks nervous, which is weird, considering it’s Zoro.

“Don’t get shy on me now, Marimo,” Sanji teases lightly, kicking him in the shin lightly. 

Zoro is silent.

That’s strange.

Normally Zoro makes remarks about how Sanji has legs of steel that are sure to destroy Zoro’s bones some day, or something equally dramatic. Now, nothing? Sanji frowns. 

“Oi, Carne, I’m going out for a second—”

“Don’t think just cause you’re the assistant you can slack off—”

“Yada yada yada, I can change your pay!” Sanji screams back, guiding Zoro into the back room behind the kitchen. He closes the door and the loud cooking sounds are muffled.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Sanji raises an eyebrow. “You can do better than that.”

“Worried, ero-cook?”

_Yeah, I am._

Sanji will never admit it, not even when tortured, but Zoro is Sanji’s best friend. He doesn’t know why, it doesn’t really make any sense, they clash on so many levels. Zoro is a brute with no sense of direction and a disrespect for women (though he claims he’s a feminist), and Sanji is a chivalrous man with a strong moral code. They’re always fighting over something or another and at their most civil, they throw insults because it’s just the way they work. It’d be weird if they weren’t constantly at each other’s necks, but Sanji can admit he’s memorized all of Zoro’s allergies, and his likes when it comes to food and he’s learned to read the small changes in Zoro’s expression to know just how much he can push him before he should back off. Nothing ever seems to get to Zoro and he’s been acting weird recently. Whatever it is that’s made the invincible Roronoa Zoro hesitate is a big deal and Sanji isn’t going to let it go. Not this time.

“Honestly? A bit.”

Zoro looks up in confusion. He has his bandana wrapped around his bicep, which means he’s come from the dojo. “You sick, Shit-Cook?”

“Shut up,” Sanji says. He nudges Zoro’s leg again. “Next time you look away, I’m going to kick your chin up. Are you four?”

Zoro raises his gaze to Sanji, his grey eyes focused and sharp suddenly. It’s like he’s hardened his resolve. “Your tolerance is shit.”

“What?”

“Your alcohol tolerance is shit,” Zoro repeats. “I don’t know why you thought it’d be a good idea to drink a whole pack of beer, and you didn’t drive over to my apartment, did you?”

“Wait a minute, I thought we were talking about you! How did this become about me?” Sanji raises an eyebrow. “You’re not making any sense, Marimo.” Did that last word sound affectionate? It might’ve, by accident. Sanji’ll deny it.

Zoro grunts, running his fingers through his hair. “I … Look, you do stupid shit when you get drunk, and—”

“I thought you said I didn’t do anything—”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about it and decided you _did_ do something stupid—”

“What, it just became stupid the longer you thought about it? Anything sounds stupid if you overthink it!”

Zoro bites the inside of his cheek. “Never mind, I shouldn’t be here.”

“Oi, don’t start something if you don’t plan on finishing it,” Sanji snaps. “I’m here to listen, so talk.”

The swordsman is quiet. He plays with the bandana on his bicep a bit. 

“OI, WHERE’D EGGPLANT GO?!”

Zoro nods to the door. “I think your boss wants you.”

“Lots of people want me, right now I want you,” Sanji says. 

_Wait. Shit. I could’ve said that differently._

Zoro turns his head away, his cheeks darkening. Is he blushing? “You should probably go—”

“Tough shit, the old man can wait, you’re more important to me.”

“Bastard, don’t just _say shit_ —”

“Well, clearly I have _to_ because getting you to talk is like churning fucking butter, it takes so long!” Sanji sighs, leaning against the door. He takes a deep breath in, tasting the nicotine on his tongue. Letting out a small puff of smoke, Sanji shakes his head. “You know what? Never mind. You don’t want to talk? Then don’t talk. But, you know my number, you know how to reach me.”

Sanji’s about to leave when Zoro clears his throat.

“Hmm?”

“Have you painted over it?” 

Sanji frowns. “Painted over what?”

“The graffiti.”

“Oh. That.”

“Yeah, that,” Zoro chuckles softly. The tension seems to leave the room.

“Ah. No, no I haven’t.”

This time Zoro frowns. “What do you mean? Thought the tagger was driving you insane.”

“They put something else up today. 1 +1 = purple.” The blond laughs. “I feel bad for them, they’re so stupid.”

Zoro rolls his eyes. “That’s a stupid reason to keep it up.”

_Yeah well, the real reason is even stupider._

Sanji shrugs. “Whatever. Just get out of here, before the old man comes and murders you for disrupting work time.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

Sanji watches Zoro go, before turning and exiting to the back alleyway of the Baratie.

It’s been three months. The art (yes, _art_ ) is taking up more and more space, but there’s a giant hole in the middle of it, as if they’re building up to something major. Sanji stares at the now memorized signature, the jolly roger with the two swords for bones and the third sword in the skull’s mouth.

Sanji raises his hand to the brick, feeling the rough texture beneath his fingers. He can’t quite describe it, but the art’s done something. 

It’s dug itself deep inside of him. Whenever he closes his eyes, he can see it, and he doesn’t know _why_ it’s there, but it’s been etched onto the backs of his eyelids and he can’t do anything about it.

He can say that the reason the art is still up is because he’s too lazy to paint over it, or because there’s not enough paint. He could say it’s because he can’t reach it at its highest point, or because he’s pretty sure the tagger would just come back and go over it again. He could say it’s because he wants to catch them while they’re doing their work so he can give them a piece of his mind. He could say it’s because he’s been intrigued by them.

But the truth?

They’re growing on him.

* * *

 

_vii. dumbbells_

* * *

Sanji wouldn’t go as far as to say the art has begun to affect his schedule, except it totally has, which is why when he walks into the dojo, ready to fight the only reason he has to give for his sudden urge to battle is that his wall has a new addition to it that looks like exercise.

“Fight me, shitty swordsman!” There’s silence in the dojo. Sanji turns into a tomato. “Once you’re finished with your teacher!” he adds quickly, running out of the dojo while Zoro stares at him in silence, his eyes screaming murder.

After a few minutes, Zoro’s boss walks out of the dojo. Sanji forces himself to speak, despite the fact that he wants to sink into the ground. “I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude—”

“You’re Sanji?”

Sanji frowns. “Marimo talks about me?”

“Definitely Sanji.” The man has a dark pony tail, and he’s wearing glasses. Sanji feels uncomfortable as the man looks him up and down. “You’re not much to look at …” He zeroes in on Sanji’s cigarette. “And you’ve got horrendous habits …” The man clicks his tongue. “I suppose you’ll do … though you don’t look that intimidating, so I don’t know what he’s been going on about …”

Sanji is frozen as the man grabs him by the shoulder and forces him down to his level. Sanji tries not to cringe when the man breathes into his ear, “one wrong move and I’ll have you murdered.”

Sanji gulps.

“Have a nice day,” says the man, his tone suddenly changing. He pats Sanji on the shoulder and waves goodbye, all while the cook tries to process what’s just happened.

Zoro pokes his head out of the dojo and frowns. “Goddammit, did he say anything to you? If he did, ignore him, he’s getting old, he doesn’t know squat.”

Sanji rolls his eyes. “Whatever. You up for a fight?”

“Aren’t I always?”

The blond grins. Entering the dojo, he puts his jacket to the side and rolls up his sleeves.

“Oi, take your fucking shoes off,” Zoro snaps. 

“Scared?”

The swordsman scoffs. “I just don’t want a concussion, I’ve had enough problems thanks to you and your legs, I don’t need to be hospitalized.”

Sanji smirks. “Is it possible you feel threatened?”

“Shoes, off,” Zoro says. “And take off your socks. We’re going to do this properly this time.” 

“Says you,” Sanji snorts. “If we fight my way, I get to keep my shoes.”

“You know savate is the only type of fighting that lets you wear shoes, right?” Zoro shakes his head. “Your legs are strong enough as it is, we’ll be fighting judo style.”

Sanji grins. “First time I’ve seen you in uniform … why don’t you teach like this?”

“It’s annoying,” Zoro says. He’s wearing the formal judo uniform in black (Sanji supposes it’s because his teacher was coming by), but—

“Oi, there are locker rooms for that—”

“Shut up, I’m just taking off the shirt,” Zoro says. He ties the shirt around his waist and Sanji swallows.

Zoro works out a lot. And it’s never been more obvious to Sanji.

“Do I have something on my face?”

“What? No,” Sanji turns, keeping his head down. This is stupid. So Zoro is subjectively hot, that’s nothing Sanji didn’t know. Those piercings of his add something that Sanji can’t name, but it’s doing weird things to him that he doesn’t want to think about it too much. “Just fight me already, Marimo.”

“As you wish.”

Sanji readies himself and then they begin.

Zoro kicks, but Sanji blocks it with his own leg. The swordsman throws himself forward, but Sanji easily reads him and dodges, kicking upward into Zoro’s stomach. The green-haired man lurches a bit, but as Sanji attempts to kick at his head, Zoro catches his leg in his hands and off-sets his balance.

Sanji tumbles forward, reaching out his hand to catch himself. His legs fly outward and strike Zoro in the chin. Zoro tries to kick Sanji in the side, but the cook sidesteps and wraps one of his legs around Zoro’s, pulling. The green haired man falls forward and Sanji sits on him. Zoro thrusts upwards and forces Sanji off, then he mounts his chest and goes in for a punch, but Sanji kicks Zoro in the head. 

The swordsman grabs Sanji’s shirt, the force the cook used to kick Zoro’s head making them both lean to the side. Sanji presses his foot against Zoro’s head, the metal of his earrings cold on Sanji’s barefoot. Clenching his toes, Sanji pulls hard and Zoro winces as the blond pulls at the earrings. Zoro tries to move his head away, but Sanji continues pulling. As he tries to sit up straight, Zoro pushes him back down and Sanji loses his grip. Zoro gets him into a headlock, but Sanji traps Zoro’s head in between his legs. 

Zoro’s breath is on Sanji’s face, his sweat drops into Sanji’s eye. 

“Having trouble, Marimo?”

“None. You?” asks Zoro through gritted teeth, his face turning red as Sanji squeezes more. He loosens his grip on Sanji’s neck to shove off his legs, but Sanji twists and then Zoro is caught between Sanji’s thighs.

“How about now?” Sanji breathes heavily, winded from Zoro’s tight grip on his neck.

“Is this some sort of weird ass sex act?” demands Zoro.

“Are you going to give?”

“Are you going to trust me this close to your dick?”

“Fair point …” Sanji squeezes his thighs together. “So give in quickly.”

Zoro tries to bridge upwards to escape, but Sanji won’t move. The swordsman grunts, tapping on Sanji’s leg.

“Hmm? Did you say something, Marimo?”

There’s silence, then—

“Did you just bite my fucking dick!?”

Zoro crawls out from under Sanji and wipes his mouth, rolling his eyes. “You wish, that was your thigh, you idiot. Do you not know your own anatomy?”

“Whatever, idiot,” Sanji says, rolling his eyes. He puts back on his socks and shoes, slinging his jacket over his shoulder and lighting up a cigarette. “You wanna check out that new movie that came out last week?”

“Let me shower,” Zoro says, using the wrinkled judo shirt to wipe the sweat off his forehead. “I’m gross.”

“You’re always gross.”

Zoro gives him the middle finger as he walks into the showers. 

Sanji sits on one of the small benches and looked around the dojo. When in doubt, you can almost always find Zoro here.

Zoro is such a girl about showers, Sanji figures he’ll be a while. If Sanji didn’t drag him out every few weeks, he’s pretty sure he’d start to blend in with the algae growing in the locker room showers.

Sanji looks left and right, eyeing Zoro’s duffel bag. Zoro’s nowhere to be seen. 

He grabs it and places it on the bench. Unzipping it, he finds swords inside. Three of them. One of them has a red hilt, Sanji’s pretty sure it’s called a saya? He can’t be sure, he doesn’t always listen when Zoro starts prattling on about his swords. His fingers trace the criss-cross pattern. It’s very nice. The next sword has a black saya, and it looks older, more worn out, but at the same time, rarely used. The last one looks the newest, but also like it’s been used the most. It has a white saya, and it’s really white, polished and cleaned and everything.

The patterns on the saya look a bit familiar. Sanji frowns.

_It can’t be …_

“Oi, Curlicue!”

Sanji jolts and the duffel bag falls off the bench. 

_Clank._

Sanji looks down at his feet.

Zoro pops his head into the dojo. “Don’t burn down the place while I’m showering, alright— what are you— shit.”

Sanji bends down and picks up the green spray paint. He turns it over in his hand. It’s light. Almost empty. 

“I can explain.”

Sanji looks up at Zoro, his blue eyes meeting Zoro’s grey ones. 

_Can you? Can you really?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tada! It is complete! I know, I know, there's tons of monologues, but I take pride in my weird-ass confessions scenes. Hope it's as good as you guys hoped it would be.

Sanji has a few options.

First option: he can tell Zoro he doesn’t want his fucking explanation, and kick him in the face.

Second option: he can let Zoro explain, while trying to contain his inner anger about being lied to.

Third option: he can get the fuck out of there.

Like any reasonable, sane person, Sanji chooses option number three.

He nearly trips over his feet as he dashes out the door, ignoring Zoro who is calling him by name (which is weird, because Zoro never calls Sanji by his name), and he doesn’t stop running until he’s at the Baratie and Zeff is yelling about where the fuck has he been and doesn’t he know that right now is not the time to just run up to his room like he’s five, but Sanji ignores him and slams his bedroom door loudly.

Zoro … is a tagger.

That’s a lot to wrap his head around.

Sanji’s always known that Zoro likes taggers, he told him so. He said he respected them, for speaking their mind and coming up with creative ways to be heard. Sanji remembers Zoro telling him that while some kids would idolize mangaka, Zoro idolized taggers. Maybe Sanji should have seen it coming? Zoro’s eyes lit up when he spoke about taggers, the same way they did when he spoke about kenjutsu.

The cook slides against his bedroom door and tucks his knees into his chest. 

_Breathe. Don’t freak out. So Zoro’s a tagger, no big deal._

But the more sane part of his brain is screaming BIG FUCKING DEAL because this shatters everything Sanji thought he knew about Zoro.

Zoro always got quiet whenever he mentioned the new graffiti, and come to think of it, hadn’t he known the guy in charge of the paint shop? Does he go there regularly and Sanji’s only just found out? There are so many questions Sanji has for the green-haired swordsman, but at the same time he can’t find it within himself to ask.

Sanji doesn’t know what he’ll do if he sees Zoro. He might just punch him, with his hands, and Sanji can’t let that happen, he’s so irrational right now he can’t injure himself over something stupid like the Marimo.

He’s not worth it.

“Eggplant?”

Sanji shakes his head. He can’t speak, he can’t respond to anyone right now. He needs to calm down, needs to think about things rationally but the only thing he can think is

_Zoro is a tagger. Zoro’s a tagger. Zoro is a tagger. A tagger. Zoro. Zoroisatagger._

“Leave me alone—”

“I thought we were past that moody teenage phase,” says Zeff. Sanji can’t muster up a chuckle, or an angry huff.

“Just go back to work, you old fart!”

Sanji needs to clear his head. Think about this. 

Think about this very hard.

It’s so _obvious_ and Sanji wonders if he always knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, and he was just pushing it back so he didn’t have to deal with it. 

The broken compass, the beer, the fighting scenes, the sleeping man, the empty wallet, everything points towards Zoro. Small pieces of his personality laid out in beautiful art, and the swords … how stupid did Sanji have to be to have missed that?

“Open up the fucking door, or do you want me to kick it down?!”

Sanji doesn’t have the patience for this. He really doesn’t. He needs a quiet place to just spend his time, to relax, to calm down from the adrenaline, to just think this through.

There’s a forceful push against the door and against his will, Sanji is propelled forward. Zeff stands in the doorway with his hands on his hips, his moustache looking even stupider as it hits either side of the doorframe.

“What the fuck is wrong with you today? Did I raise you to be a coward?”

“Get the fuck out of my room—”

“Watch it, you brat,” Zeff snaps. “How about you tell me what’s going on—”

“You have a restaurant to run, or did you forget?” Sanji snaps. “You have better things to do than bother yourself with my problems.”

Zeff sits himself down on the floor, which is awkward, yes, and Sanji feels like he’s fifteen again, getting The Talk from Zeff, after which Patty and Carne decided to have fun poking at him about it. The door has been kicked off it’s hinges so now there’s not even a semblance of privacy and it unnerves Sanji to no extent. 

“You listen here, and you listen well, I built this restaurant from the ground up and I haven’t taken a goddamn break in over twelve years, if I want to stop to talk to my ungrateful bastard, then I will, you hear me?”

“You always had a way with words,” the blond says dryly.

“I choose what I waste my time on, so now I’m going to waste my time on you. If you want to sit and mope for the next three hours, then I’m going to sit right here and mope with you, but you only have these three hours. Once they’re over, you better have your shit together and be ready to work. I won’t have you slacking off because of some stupid swordsman.”

“How … how do you know it has to do with the Marimo?”

Zeff rolls his eyes. “When does it _not_ have to do with the Marimo? Did he forget your anniversary?”

“We’re not dating, idiot,” Sanji snaps, picking at the lining of his shoe.

“Don’t do that, those are expensive,” Zeff says, swatting away Sanji’s hand.

“If I want to mope by picking at my shoes, I’ll mope by picking at my shoes—”

“Not under my roof you won’t,” Zeff says. “You think I can afford your smoking habit?”

“Everyone smokes here,” the cook says, rolling his eyes. “More importantly, what gave you the crazy idea me and Zoro were dating?”

“Have you ever seen the way that boy looks at you?” Zeff shakes his head. “I figured you were hiding it cause you didn’t want your old man to find out, or you were embarrassed or whatever, but everyone knows you’re dating him—”

“We’re not dating!”

Zeff nods. “Okay, sure, you’re not dating.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“Oh no, I believe you,” Zeff says. The blond stares at him, tilting his head. He can’t find any indication that Zeff is lying. The elder man leans back and yawns. Something is still off.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Zeff says.

“Cut the innocent bullshit, it doesn’t suit you.”

Zeff turns serious, meeting Sanji’s gaze intently. “Does he know that?”

“Know what?”

“That you aren’t dating.”

“What? Of course!” Sanji says, rolling his eyes. “Why would he even think we were?”

“The coffee? The fighting? The fact that you didn’t take down his art?”

Sanji frowns. “ _His_ art? Did you know? That it was him?”

“How stupid do you have to be, Eggplant?” Zeff shakes his head. “Never mind. What are you going to do?”

“I need time to think.” Sanji shrugs. “It’s a lot to take in.”

“You take as much time as you need. But remember that if this ever happens again, I’m going to kick your ass,” Zeff says, ruffling Sanji’s hair, before hitting him slightly on the back of the head.

_Yeah, like this very specific set of circumstances will ever happen again._

Sanji sits in his room in silence for hours, not sure what he should be thinking about more, this Zoro that he realizes he may have never known, or if the meaning of the graffiti has changed for him now that he knows who did it.

He has no real answer.

  
It’s been a week since the day Sanji found out when Johnny and Yosaku walk into the Baratie. The blond hasn’t spoken to the swordsman since, mainly because he doesn’t even know what he would say. He’s been trying to push it to the back of his mind, but it doesn’t really work that way when the image is burned on the backs of his eyelids.

The two of them barrel in full force, nearly knocking over Moodie as she exits.

“SANJI-ANIKI! HAVE YOU SEEN ZORO-ANIKI?”

“Oi, Sanji, you’re stupid friends are here—”

“They’re not my friends, Patty,” Sanji shouts back, “They’re the Marimo’s.”

“They’re gonna scare off the customers, get them under control,” Patty shouts back.

“Like your ugly mug doesn’t do that enough?” Sanji snaps back, but then he turns to the two men who act as though they are twelve and sighs. “If you’re looking for Zoro, I don’t know where he is.”

The two of them stare at him wordlessly.

Sanji frowns. “What?”

“Sorry,” says Johnny, dropping his head solemnly. 

“What do you mean sorry?”

“Sorry,” says Yosaku.

“What do you mean?” Sanji repeats. He doesn’t have patience for them, and he doesn’t understand how Zoro does.

“You look dead.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“It’s okay, we’re here for you,” says Johnny, patting Sanji, who pulls his arm back defensively. 

“The fuck?”

“It’s going to be okay, Sanji-aniki,” says Yosaku. “It’s very important that you get enough sleep, and don’t forget to eat, because regardless of the ache, it still is possible to sleep, and you do need to.”

“I’m not mourning, or whatever the fuck you guys think I’m doing. I’m fine,” Sanji says, rolling his eyes. “Why are you here?”

“Zoro-aniki’s been … weird,” says Johnny with a sigh. “And we knew it had to do with you—”

“Why’s it always got to do with me?” interrupts Sanji. “Why is it that every time something is wrong with Zoro, everyone comes to me? It’s not my fault,—”

“We’re not saying it’s your fault,” says Yosaku quickly. “It’s just—”

“You’re saying it’s because of me, which means it _is_ my fault, which it’s _not_ , I’m not the idiot’s boss, he can do whatever he wants, if he’s decided to act stupid, that’s got nothing to do with me!”

“Sanji-aniki, do you hate Zoro-aniki?”

Sanji stares at Yosaku, who looks so small. It’s a strange look for the usually brazen man. 

“I don’t hate him,” says the blond slowly. “I’m just very … confused. I haven’t figured out how I feel about the whole thing. It’s weird. It takes time to get used to realizing that everything you thought you knew wasn’t true.”

Yosaku nods slowly. “I get it, but still, Zoro-aniki is a wreck. He isn’t going to work, he tenses whenever your name is mentioned. It’s really done a number on him.”

Sanji sighs. “I just can’t face him. Not yet.”

Johnny nods. “Okay. But … just don’t take too long, okay?”

The cook nods.

  
It’s a week later when Sanji gets a call.

Sanji frowns at the unfamiliar number on his phone. “Hello?” he answers hesitantly.

“Sanji-aniki?”

“Johnny?! How the fuck did you get my number?”

“That doesn’t matter. I know you and Zoro-aniki aren’t getting along right now—”

“First of all, how do you know that? Secondly, it matters to me, so where the hell did you get my number?” 

“Zoro-aniki’s sorry.”

Sanji pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs deeply. “Sorry doesn’t change the fact that he lied to me.” At this point, Sanji can admit that he doesn’t really care anymore what Zoro’s done, but it’s mainly for his pride that he’s keeping it up.

“I know that, trust me, and he knows that—”

“Did Zoro get you to call me? Because I really don’t have time for this, okay? You may not think it, but I have a busy schedule and a lot of things to do,” _lies, lies, lies,_ “so can you just hurry this up and get to the point?”

“You’re at the Baratie, right?”

“What does that matter?”

“I need you to go outside.”

Sanji spins around and glances around him. “Are you stalking me?”

“Just, I need you to trust me and go outside,” says Johnny with a desperation in his voice that Sanji has never heard from the sunglasses-wearing man before, and he’s heard him beg with Zoro to come to a (group dating thing they do in Japan) numerous times.

“I don’t need to see more of his fucking art, okay?” Sanji snaps. “It’s enough that he lied to me about being a tagger, but that he’s been the one defacing my property, it’s just—”

“Please.” His voice is quiet. “You _need_ to see this.”

Sanji sighs and hangs up his chef hat, grumbling under his breath. “This better be fucking something, or else I’m going to find where you are kick the shit out of you!” The cook wrestles with the door leading to the Baratie back alley that he’s spent way too much time staring at, memorizing each bit of spray paint for too many months for him to keep count anymore. He knows what he’s going to see, it’s been that way forever, but when Sanji opens the door the cigarette falls from his lips.

_"Maybe they're building up to something."_

There, in the center of all the spread out and scattered images Sanji has been memorizing is a blond cook, wearing a blue and black pinstriped shirt, their sleeves rolled up, a cigarette in the corner of their smiling mouth as they pour a sauce into a sizzling pan, a gleam in their one displayed blue eye, below a strangely curled eyebrow.

It’s him.

In an arc above the work, written in green spray paint are the words: ALL THAT I AM AND AT THE CENTER IS YOU.

_“Have you ever seen the way that boy looks at you?”_

Sanji chokes.

“Sanji-aniki?”

Sanji has to bite his lip to hold in his tears. He’s nearly forgotten Johnny is on the other end of the line, but he’s truly speechless. He can’t find words, he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what he can say.

“Sanji-aniki, are you okay?”

“Johnny,” the cook finally manages to utter, trying to gather his composure. His lips are dry, his throat is sore, his chest feels tight. “Where’s Zoro?”

  
After Johnny tells him that he hasn’t seen Zoro in forever, Sanji finds himself rather relieved. Because while his first immediate impulse is to find the swordsman and have him explaining everything to him, he doesn’t even know what to say. After two weeks, he’s finally come to terms with the fact that Zoro is the tagger who has been decorating the back wall of the Baratie for the past few months. Finding out your best friend is secretly a tagger, but more importantly, the secret tagger that’s been vandalizing your workspace is one thing. Finding out that _he’s in love with you_ is another. Once again, Sanji is launched in feelings he doesn’t understand. There isn’t exactly a manual for these types of things.

He goes for a long walk and thinks it over.

So. 

Zoro is a tagger.

And he’s in love with him.

It doesn’t bug Sanji at all that Zoro is gay (or bisexual? Sanji isn’t really sure what to label it. Either way, that’s not the weird part). The weird part is why does he love _Sanji_?

In all the years they’ve known each other, Sanji hasn’t been the model friend to him in any way. They’re always fighting, at each other’s throats, literally or figuratively. Sanji understands that he’s attractive, but at the same time, why would Zoro go for him? Sanji can name all his flaws himself; he smokes way too much to be healthy, he has a bad temper, he’s a flirt, he seems flighty to many people, he only seems to get really serious when it comes to cooking. Most of his relationship with Zoro is built on mutual respect for each other’s strength, and most of the time it’s spent arguing. Sanji isn’t soft with Zoro, he’s always angry, always yelling. There are only a few brief pauses in their conversations that can be taken as civil. How they’re even friends is beyond him. 

Either way it’s strange. 

But the fact that Zoro likes Sanji aside, Sanji finds the strangest thing is how much he doesn’t mind. 

He knows that for some people, the thought of their same-sex friend being in love with them would be the thing of nightmares, but he can’t make himself look at it that way. He actually finds it pretty flattering.

Zoro is handsome, and that’s not an opinion, that’s a fact. He’s a certain type of good-looking that comes from muscles and facial bone structure, and the way he holds himself is confident and breath-taking in its own right. His callused hands are tough and hard-worn, his arms are nicely toned, his eyes are concentrated and serious. He dresses like a slob, but when he cleans up, he looks good. Someone that handsome liking someone like Sanji, who has his own type of handsome that’s more domestic and less wild is kind of flattering.

There are many qualities of Zoro’s that Sanji finds attractive. He’s loyal and headstrong and one of the most stubborn people Sanji has ever met. He works hard, has goals, is motivated, and knows what he wants. He’s respectable, and strong, he carries himself in a way that says he’s a leader.

Perhaps, if Zoro were female, Sanji could see himself liking her. But at the same time, the easy relationship Sanji has with Zoro wouldn’t work if he was a girl. Sanji would constantly feel the need to be gentle, he wouldn’t feel challenged anymore, wouldn’t feel matched. There’s a certain delicacy that women have that Zoro lacks, but it drives Sanji to try and beat him, to prove him wrong. 

Sanji wouldn’t have the same relationship with Zoro if he was a girl. The whole spark, the thing that makes them work, would be gone.

The rush Sanji gets when fighting Zoro, he doesn’t get that anywhere else, not even a cigarette can mimic that kind of high, and while girls are nice and all, Sanji is always scared of being too rough, of not being gentle enough. That’s not there when it comes to Zoro. There’s a kind of something that Sanji can’t name that he gets out of his relationship with Zoro that he could never get out of any relationship with a woman.

If Sanji’s being honest with himself, he’d probably date Zoro as he is—

“SHIT!”

The cigarette falls from Sanji’s lips and scorches his shirt. He hisses in slight pain, but he can barely register it underneath the panic about Zoro. 

Did he actually think he could date Zoro? _Zoro_? Muscular, idiot Zoro?

Sanji grits his teeth and his thumb slips numerous times as he tries to light up another cigarette. He needs a minute to think. Think about this clearly.

_Okay what are the pros of dating Zoro?_

Pro: Sanji doesn’t have to be gentle with Zoro

Pro: He doesn’t have to worry about being rude or ungentleman-like

Pro: he’d have something to do with all that extra energy Zoro always gives him after a fight

Pro: He knows Zoro’s body really well

Pro: Zeff already knows Zoro

Pro: He’s not walking on eggshells around him all the time

Con: he’s a man.

Sanji frowns.

He feels like there should be more cons, but he can’t really think of any. Is the really downside to dating Zoro that he’s male? Because if Zoro weren’t male, he wouldn’t be _Zoro_. It washes over him with a strange type of calm that he’s pretty sure any other man in his place wouldn’t have. The prospect of dating Zoro isn’t as terrifying as it should be, and that’s what terrifies him.

Sanji can see a relationship with Zoro being as good as any he’s ever had with a woman, perhaps even better, and it doesn’t seem all that strange to him, which is strange. It should be weird, shouldn’t it? That the idea of being with Zoro, close to him, _kissing_ _him_ ,—

“That _bastard_.”

  
Of course, after Sanji gets his shit together, Zoro has to decide to fall off the edge of the universe.

Sanji checks all the usual places, (the dojo, the bar, random streets that Zoro continuously gets lost on for inexplicable reasons, his apartment), and the unusual places (the woods where he likes to train, marked by several slashes against the bark, the cemetery, the harbour, the sword shop), but it’s almost like he’s never existed. 

He has to talk to Zoro to figure this shit out, because Sanji can only get so far with contemplative walks in the park. 

“Where the fuck is he?” he demands, kicking open the Baratie door open. The cooks all turn to him, glaring for his disruption of the calm in the restaurant. He glares at them all. “It’s not like you’ve never had a bad day!”

Zeff pushes his way through the many people at the reception, waiting to be seated and grabs Sanji by his ear, pulling him into the kitchen. “I’m assuming you’ve got your shit together?”

“It’s that bastard Marimo—”

“You can’t blame all your problems on the swordsman—”

“Tell me that again, when you see him, because I sure as hell can’t find him—”

“Ever thought about contacting him?”

Sanji freezes.

“You haven’t, have you?”

Sanji wants to give a good reason, like he’s been too busy going from place to place, but it doesn’t take much time to send a quick text to Zoro. He could ask him where he is, and he could say the reason he hasn’t is because Zoro is for sure avoiding him, but a part of him says that he should’ve at least tried. He’s trying to hold on as best as he can because he’s still pretty shaken and it’s easier to run around like a chicken without his head than sit contemplatively again, because he just can’t figure Zoro out, and maybe by the time he does find Zoro, he’ll have his head on straight and the casual way he seems okay with dating him will go away and he’ll be normal again, and—

“Stop being an idiot, Eggplant, and give him a call.”

Sanji’s shoulders slump. He really hates it when Zeff is right.

“Oi, Old Man-”

“I’m cutting you some slack for now, don’t let it happen again. And if you dare let your … activities get in the way of work, then you can consider yourself fired!”

“OI!”

Zeff chuckles heartedly and slaps Sanji on the back. “Go get him, Eggplant.”

  
Zoro is being a jerk. He can acknowledge that. He’s been avoiding Sanji and there’s no shame in admitting it, he can be a big boy, swallow his pride and fess up that hearing Sanji’s response to Zoro’s illegal love confession scares the shit out of him.

He’s probably painted over it now, knowing what it really means and Zoro can pretend that it doesn’t hurt him but it does, oh does it. And he wasn’t going to finish it, not when Sanji looked at him with those blue eyes blown so wide in amazement, in confusion, in betrayal. But rather than have trouble picking up the can again, Zoro couldn’t help himself. It had been his pledge to himself, on his honour, that he would finish the masterpiece and it would be his way of telling Sanji. It would be out in the open, and he’d get it done and then he’d figure out what to do with Sanji’s reaction. 

Clearly, past Zoro was much more relaxed than present-Zoro, because right now Zoro would rather do anything than confront Sanji. 

He’s always known that Sanji has a hatred for those who vandalize, but Zoro’s always been a tagger, the same way he’s always fought with his swords, he’s so used to it, he can’t separate it from who he is. Zoro Roronoa, swordsman and tagger. It’s his identity. The same way that Sanji has moulded himself underneath Zoro’s skin, his face sewn to the backs of Zoro’s eyelids, the urge to tag has always been there. There are always three impulses Zoro can never fight, no matter how he tires: fighting, tagging, and Sanji.

His phone rings and Sanji lights up his screen.

It’s been months. He should be able to face him now.

Zoro picks up his phone, his finger hovering over the answer button. 

Sanji is his best friend, whether or not he knows it. And while Zoro has been terrified out of his wits to the point where he’s barely been sleeping, he can admit that more than anything, the loneliness that consumes him has been harder than anything. He’s not even sure if it’s Sanji’s voice, or if it’s just his presence. The cook is one of the few people Zoro can stand silences with because they aren’t awkward, they just are, and it feels right and fine and-

No, in the state he’s in, he can’t talk to Sanji, he can’t trust himself not to reveal something, he can’t assure himself his voice won’t crack. He clenches his fist—

“Marimo?”

_Shit._

The swordsman feels heat rising as he panics. His thumb slipped and hit the answer button.

“Listen, you don’t have to talk to me, but I heard you’re not going to work. Who else is gonna whip those kids into shape? You need to pay your own rent, idiot. Get your ass back at the dojo, you hear me?”

Zoro gulps.

“I can hear you breathing on the other line, so you are hearing this. If you don’t get yourself over to that dojo, I’m going to stomp all over your ugly mug and make it impossible for you to ever get laid again, you hear me? And you’re already pent up as it is—”

“Alright, I got it, you fucking bastard!”

Sanji laughs and the tension leaves Zoro’s shoulders. Somehow, without even trying, Sanji’s managed to trigger something in Zoro, and though he still feels slightly unease it’s nowhere near as paralyzing as before.

Still though, if Zoro goes, he knows that it’s going to mean he’ll be seeing Sanji.

He doesn’t know how to do it yet. How to look Sanji in the eyes and pretend he’s okay, to shove everything under the rug, to pretend nothing happened. Because he can’t, the image is burned into his mind, the kiss Sanji gave him was just the catalyst for Zoro’s personal doom. He can’t go back from that.

Zoro stares at himself in the mirror.

He looks like death warmed over. Bags underneath his eyes, hair a mess, he smells like he hasn’t showered in a century, his clothes are sloppy and baggy, his posture is horrible. 

Clean up first.

Zoro’s going to look damn good when Sanji inevitably tells him no.

  
Sanji fidgets, unable to stay still. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he keeps flicking his lighter on and off again. He feels stupid, so stupid, what is he even doing? But he knows if pressed, he can’t manage it, can’t make words, he’d choke on them as they tried to climb up his throat. Talking to Zoro isn’t an option. The phone call alone nearly drained him.

Sanji rocks on his feet, unsure of himself. He has to get a grip. Because if he knows anything about Zoro, Zoro’ll be here in the next hour, and he’s going to be unpredictable. 

Sanji paces like a lunatic for the next several minutes before deciding to take it out on the punching bag (using his legs of course) when the door to the dojo opens.

Sanji spins around, the stuffing of the punching bag falling onto the floor. His eyes meet the Marimo’s, who stares at him wordlessly, before promptly going to shut the door.

Sanji sprints quickly and stops the door with his foot.

“Listen here, you idiot Marimo! You can’t just make a beautiful masterpiece representing your love for me, put it on the wall right behind my workplace, and then just run away!”

Sanji can see Zoro’s body tense, squaring his body. The swordsman breathes in deeply and exhales. “Can we forget about it?”

“It’s a bit too late for that, don’t you think?”

Zoro sighs and leans against the door. “Can we get this over with then?”

Sanji blinks. “What?” 

Sanji has expected many reactions from Zoro. Running away, screaming, getting sad, but this seems to be numbness. He seems … _dull_. Like he isn’t even processing what’s happening.

Sanji has never known Zoro to be a man of neutrality, he has always been fiery with whatever emotion he felt at the time. This feels … _wrong_.

“Just say what you want to say, and then I can go home.”

As predicted, Sanji can’t speak. He instead grabs Zoro by the arm and pulls him into the dojo. Kicking him in the back so that Zoro will fall to his knees, Sanji grabs his head and forces him to look straight forward.

“Do you have to humiliate me? Isn’t this enough—”

“Open your fucking eyes, idiot,” Sanji snaps and he knows the instant Zoro does because his breath hitches.

_Recipe for Love_

_A teaspoon of idiocy_

_A cup of passion_

_A giant bucket of green moss_

_A tablespoon of strength_

_½ a glass of muscles_

_⅛ cup of loyalty_

_Stir up well_

_Fan the flames until fired up_

_Treat with force_

It’s written in shaky hand, with spray paint across the dojo’s normally white screen. Sanji can remember trembling each time as he wrote, terrified out of his mind. He didn’t know what he was doing, still doesn’t really know, but he tries to keep himself from second guessing himself now.

“W-what—?”

“I _am_ the Love Cook, aren’t I?”

Zoro laughs dryly, the words getting caught in his throat. Based on his silence, Sanji doesn’t know what to think. He bites his lip and teeters on his heels, unsure of his next actions. 

“It’s stupid—”

“No,” Zoro cuts him off. “No, it’s not.”

Sanji falls silent.

“I mean, it’s not _smart_ either, but it’s not … not really stupid. No stupider than what I did.” Zoro tilts his head and frowns. “So uh … I guess we’re both idiots?”

Sanji doesn’t like this. The atmosphere is tense, and he feels like he’s choking on air, and it doesn’t work because part of the reason Sanji likes being around Zoro is silences are comfortable with him, and he doesn’t feel the need to talk and talk to fill up the empty space and now he feels like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, or where to look, or how his feet should be or even how does he inhale and-

“Did Kyousuke shit his pants when he saw you again?”

Sanji rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t _that_ scary—”

“Are you kidding me? That kid looked ready to give you all his money and his first born,” Zoro scoffs. “You terrified him.”

“I guess he was a bit jittery when I visited …”

Zoro rolls his eyes. “So how’d it feel to walk on the wild side?”

“Are we … are we not going to talk about this?” asks Sanji, watching as Zoro stands up and dusts off his hands. “I mean the whole …”

“No, no we’re not going to talk about it, it was a moment of weakness, and now it’s under the bus—”

“A moment?” Sanji repeats. “That thing took you months—”

“Temporary insanity,” Zoro shrugs. “So—”

“No! Not so!” 

Zoro takes a step back, his expression going from surprised to tired. “Listen, I’m trying to make this easy for you. It never happened, okay? It’s history. Let it go and move on.”

“What if I don’t want to move on?”

“Goddammit Sanji! _I know you_ , okay? I know you’re straight, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but if you’d just rip off the bandaid so I can forget this whole dumb thing happened—”

“Do you not have eyes?!” Sanji snaps. “Do you think I’d toss all my morals out the window for a _joke_?” The blond is fuming. He knows Zoro is thick, he knows it’s going to take some time, but he can’t account for this. This is ridiculous. “Do you think that little of me? That I’d just string you along?”

“It’s what you’re good at,” Zoro says softly.

Sanji can’t speak. His mouth opens and closes, trying to make words, but nothing is coming out. Instead he can only stare.

“Listen, I know you don’t do it for kicks. I know that anything that I thought was happening is my own mind, because you’re not like that, and you’re not that cruel and I read into things too much, I get that, okay? 

“But damn Sanji, you let me take you out for coffee, and you bitch to me when the day’s been bad, and you fight with me with your body all spread out over me, and it can drive a guy insane, okay? You make the line between friendship and something more very thin, and very easy to forget about! So just … give me some time, okay?”

“You idiot!” 

_SLAM!_

Zoro’s back hits the dojo’s training mats. Sanji leans over him, pressing his knee against Zoro’s chest. “You are so stupid, aren’t you? I tried to be subtle, but then again, nothing ever gets through a skull as thick as yours, so of course it didn’t work. But listen to me, alright? I. Like. You. And I’m not in love with you or anything that extreme, but I think I could.

“I can see myself waking up to see you walking around in sweats and nothing else, and you eating my dinner every night, and I can see you coming back from the gym all sweaty and I’ll force you into a shower and you’ll whine, but do it anyway. I can see us fighting over who gets which side of the closet and all that domestic shit. 

“I can see us doing absolutely nothing about national holidays cause they’re a corporate scheme to force money out of us, and I can see you being really stupid on New Year’s, trying to kiss me and yet somehow screwing it up, and you forgetting our anniversary. I can see myself worrying about how I look every time we go out and you telling me not to be fucking stupid cause I wear the exact same fucking tie every time and you’re sure the waiter knows us by name now which is kinda embarrassing as fuck and we should change our restaurant for date nights.

“I can see us not even going anywhere for date nights, just fighting, all day, until we pass out from exhaustion. I can almost feel it already, the adrenaline and the rush I get when I fight you normally, and I just know it’ll be more fun, nothing would change if we did it together while we dated, we’d still be rough as hell with the other because we know the other can take it! And if we don’t pass out after fighting, we’ll just decide to fuck each other until the sexual tension goes away. And the sex …

“I can just imagine how great the sex would be, because I mean, _fuck_ , you’re built like a house and I just … I want that! Okay? 

“It’s stupid but I want someone to nag when they steal my section of the newspaper, and I want us to do the crosswords on the weekend, and I want you to forget stuff on the grocery list and I want to talk about getting a pet and settle for a low-maintenance plant that you’ll inevitably kill anyway! I want to kill cacti with you! I want to load the DVR with your stupid soap operas, and I want to fight over the tabloids!

“I just want us to fight _in general_ , until we both can’t breathe, and I want us to slam doors so hard they rattle in their frame, and I want you to polish your swords while I tell you to get that shit out of the living room, and I want to build crappy Swedish furniture together! I want you to get mad, so mad you leave and then you plan on coming back to yell at me again but you’ll get lost and then I’ll find you and then I’ll kick you in the head, but then we’ll have make-up sex, which I hear is the best sex ever, and I’ll yell at you for not being romantic and you’ll get me a new lighter for Christmas! 

“I want to cry over stupid movies with you, and play random word games and fight over who will pay which part of the rent! I want to force the other to sleep on the couch when we’re pissed at each other, and I want you to try and microwave eggs with Luffy again and I can get mad at you for your stupidity, and we can fight over so many, _many_ stupid things, like that I hog the blankets, and you take up too much space on the bed, and then we can resolve it through stupid ways and you can call me a bastard and I’ll call you a moron, but we both know that we actually don’t mean a word of it!

“We’ll get each other obnoxious cards that make our anniversaries ironic, and we can compete against Luffy and Nami to see who can be more sickeningly sweet, I just … I just want _you_! 

“You and your craziness and your unpredictability and your tendency to run without any idea where you’re going! I don’t care what hell I go through, I just think it’ll be all the better to go through it with you!”

Zoro stares at him and Sanji’s chest is heaving because he can barely believe half the things he’s said and he can’t believe Zoro didn’t stop him earlier, what has he even said—

“You don’t love me?”

Sanji laughs. Out of everything Zoro’s heard, _this_ is what he picks up on. He tosses his head back and his body shakes and he wonders how he never noticed the way Zoro’s eyes trace his neck, his figure. “Not yet, but fuck, you make it seem so easy …”

“It’s not,” Zoro says. “It’s never been. Do you know how fucking _terrible_ it is? It’s like I’m constantly at the top of a rollercoaster, about to fall, or like I’ve been sent into the battlefield without any defence, it’s like … God you make me want to smash your head, and part of me wants to see your brains spill out onto the floor because you’re _so fucking annoying_ , but then your ticks became endearing to me.

“I like the way you smoke and I’ve seen you be an idiot over girls and I think you’re stupid as fuck, but at the same time, Christ, is that girl lucky to have your attention and you swear so fucking much, despite all your grace and it’s so fucking amusing to hear it come from you because you open your mouth and it’s like a completely different person and your legs do this sinful thing, just by being there! And that look you get when you’re really focused is just … and then you smirk, or your voice starts layering it on, and to be honest, you sound _so fucking dumb_ when you try and flirt with girls, and you look kind of ugly as fuck, but then you start swearing and yelling and you get red in the face and I can tell you have trouble breathing but you just want to drill how fucking stupid I am into my head and I just can’t even speak when you’re like that because your eyes start bulging and you just look so alive, it’s like I can’t even think straight! 

“And when you fight, you get so into it and when you break something, the way you still stand like you haven’t crushed every bone in your hand and you just lazily hold onto that cigarette! Do you know how hard it is to be around you? And how confusing it is for me, when a large part of me wants to grab you by the tie and listen to you choke while another part of me just wants to pull you closer, my dick is so confused because of you! I didn’t even know there were fetishes for this type of thing, and it’s not like a BDSM thing, I should go on the internet and let the world know about this new kind of kink that involves hate sex but it’s not and it’s just … why can’t you make sense?”

Sanji grins. It’s just so _Zoro_ to look completely lost and helpless but at the same time angry as hell, like he’s angry that he’s confused, and he doesn’t know why, so it makes him even angrier.

Sanji pulls him close by the neck and Zoro’s complaining about how can he do that? Doesn’t he know he could break his— _oh shit._

Zoro’s lips are wet, and Sanji can’t tell if it’s from sweat, but usually they look so chapped, and he inhales deeply, and their noses collide and he nearly presses all his weight against Zoro, his knees buckling. His nails dig into Zoro’s bicep, his elbow in the crook of Zoro’s neck. One of the cook’s legs wrap around the swordsman’s hip, and the green-haired man holds him there. Sanji feels like he’s trying to crawl inside of Zoro’s body, and he can’t explain it because it’s never been like this before, and he feels like he’s fourteen again, stupid and horny and unable to control his hormones and inexperienced as their teeth knock together and Zoro bites his lip until it starts bleeding, but Sanji just licks up the metallic taste and remembers to breathe and then he’s clawing at Zoro’s skin, his arm hooking even harder into Zoro. His other arm drops his hold and wraps itself around Zoro’s neck so that he can’t pull away, but it doesn’t seem like he wants to, and then Sanji’s tasting everything and it’s not like beer, and it’s not like metal and it’s sort of like spearmint (heh, spearmint) but not and he can do nothing more than try and figure out what it is, when Zoro bites his tongue and he barely notices and then Zoro’s coughing and-

Sanji releases his arms the moment he realizes what’s happened.

Zoro clutches his throat, coughing heavily. His hair is mused, his pupils dilated and somehow it feels more personal, more intimate than any time Sanji has ever had sex with a woman before and he’s just breathless.

“Who needs to breathe now?” 

Zoro growls at him. “I _would_ , if you’d fucking let me,” the swordsman snarls, but there’s a chuckle in his tone and Sanji knows that he might never admit how kinky he thinks it is that Sanji nearly suffocated him. “Bastard, does _everything_ need to be a fight?”

Sanji licks the blood off his lips and smirks. “Would you want me any other way?”

The green-haired man coughs again and wipes his mouth. “Fuck, tell me I’m not dreaming.”

Sanji frowns. “Why would you be—”

“Because it’s you!” Zoro says, opening his eyes with a certain craze in them. “It’s you, and you’re unpredictable and I can never tell with you, you crazy motherfucker, and maybe you’re just experimenting or something but I mean, you know how I am, I’m not like you, I don’t want to fuck everything I see, I need … I need _something_ with them, and Christ, I’ve done this so many times …” 

“Done this?”

“ _This_!” Zoro gestures to the dojo. “Screamed at you, then kissed you, and then you’d say something and then it’d be all nice and rainbows and whatever the corny shit is, and then it’d be morning and you wouldn’t be there and I’d be pissed for the rest of the day and-”

“Zoro,” Sanji says, pressing his nails into the swordsman’s arm, his nails leaving a mark, “this is real. This is happening.”

Zoro’s arms fall limp at his sides and he sound so defeated. “Then what is this?”

“I … I don’t know,” Sanji admits. “It’s not experimenting, you can trust me on that. It’s … I don’t know. There’s something here, and I want to give it a try, if you’ll let me. Because I think we could be fucking amazing together and I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner, and that I don’t love you yet, but like I said …” Sanji’s arms fall helplessly at his sides. “You just make it seem _so easy_. I can see it, I can believe it, that some day I’ll just … fall. Hell, I might even be falling, I don’t think anyone ever knows they’re falling till they’ve hit the ground, heh?” Sanji pulls at Zoro’s pants, drawing him closer. “So, will you kiss me again, or will I be pre-occupying my mouth with another cigarette?”

Zoro stares at Sanji like he’s something out of a dream, like after everything that’s happened, he still can’t quite believe it. “I just … I don’t want to wake up.”

“You don’t have to,” Sanji says, “because you’re not dreaming.” He looks at Zoro and finds that he was right. Zoro is nothing like a girl. And he wouldn’t want him any other way. “There’s nothing to wake up to.”

Zoro bites his lip and Sanji waits. Slowly, the confusion and tension leaves his expression and then he’s grinning shyly and it may be Sanji’s favorite look on the swordsman. He’s known him for years and years, but there’s something amazing about finding out something new about him, knowing there is still so much to learn about him, so much to understand, so much to unravel. 

Zoro kisses him and it’s softer than anything before, but just as passionate, full of promise and uncertainty, but also thrilling adrenaline and hope. His hands thread gently through the blond’s hair, and Sanji holds onto his bicep, the other around his waist. Zoro laughs against his lips and Sanji swallows the sound, and he feels like he’s sixteen again, thinking he’s in love with that girl in the back of the class but this feels more real than that, and it feels right, and when Zoro finally separates from him, he’s breathing hard.

“Breathe, idiot,” Sanji chuckles softly.

Zoro’s eyes pop open.

“You remember?”

Sanji shakes his head. “I didn’t before, but uh, it came back to me a while ago. Went to find you, but you weren’t anywhere to be found.”

“Huh.”

Sanji tilts his head, looking up at Zoro, his … boyfriend? He kinda likes the sound of that. “What?”

“You better not forget it this time.”

Sanji smirks.

“I don’t plan to.”

And when Zoro kisses him, Sanji thinks he’s just hit the ground.


End file.
